


tsubasa wa nai kedo

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Alternate Universe - Teachers, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-04 23:14:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6679324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke is, in general, used to Bellamy being the caretaker in their friendship. But his first year teaching AP is kicking his ass, so she's willing to step up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tsubasa wa nai kedo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bgonemydear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bgonemydear/gifts).



> did you know brit is the best teacher ever and I love her? now you do!! also title is from Spitz and means "I don't have wings, but."

Clarke didn't really realize she had never seen Bellamy stressed out, because Bellamy is one of those naturally dramatic people who's always happy to complain about how his sister (who is _twenty-three_ , fucking seriously) is dating someone and how he doesn't understand what Snapchat is or _why_ Snapchat is, in the same tones most people use to bemoan the fall of Western civilization. So it was easy to just assume that, yeah, that was Bellamy when he was having a hard time. He never asks for affection, but always accepts it, and what he tends to want is just nodding and smiling and, _Yup, kids should definitely get off your lawn, Bellamy_.

And Clarke feels good at that. Usually they have a few drinks and take turns venting and everyone is happy. Over the course of their friendship, she's had more cause for genuine stress than he has, because they met when she was in grad school and doing the worst internship of her life, and he's a natural caretaker. So in the early stages of knowing each other, it was more her drinking and venting and him comforting, and that was an easy vibe to get into.

Of course she would have said she'd do the same for him. She thought she _was_ , honestly. If Bellamy has problems, she knows he comes to her.

And then he starts teaching AP US History.

"This is going to be so fucking bad," he tells her.

"It's great," she says, and means it. "You love teaching, and you've been complaining about how shitty the APUSH teacher is and how he needs to retire for months. You're going to do so much for these kids."

He ducks his head down, laughing, but Clarke can see his blush too. For all Bellamy acts confident, he's awful at giving himself credit.

Which is why Clarke is here. To make sure someone regularly tells Bellamy Blake how amazing he is. 

"I'm just warning you, in advance, I'm going to be a mess. And it's just going to get worse and worse. April? April's going to be a disaster. Our lease is up in October, so if you want to get out of it--"

"You really think it's going to get so bad I'll want to _move out_?" she asks, fondly amused. He really is kind of ridiculous.

"I think you're underestimating how awful this is going to be," he grumbles, and Clarke gives him a fond squeeze around the shoulders. In her defense, he's acting basically how he always does during non-crises, and she really does know that this is good. He's a fantastic teacher, he knows the subject matter, and he's been wanting this. So she has no good reason to believe it's actually going to be a problem.

"Do you know how hard it is to find nice, affordable apartments with people I don't want to murder?" she asks. "You're going to have to try a lot harder to get me to move out."

He leans his head against hers. "Yeah, fine. But don't say I didn't warn you."

*

Clarke found Bellamy via a random Craigslist posting, and it took them a couple months to settle in and get used to each other, Bellamy stand-offish and naturally wary of new people and Clarke prickly and exhausted all the time from school. But she had her class with Cage Wallace that semester, and she was constantly on the verge of murdering him, so it was hard to keep from complaining to anyone and everyone, and it turned out the magic words to unlock both Bellamy's sympathy and his friendship were, "God, I have the worst fucking prof."

She hadn't realized it set the tone for the two of them, the one where she complained and he passed her wine and sympathized. It's not like she _doesn't_ want him to vent to her. Bellamy's basically her favorite person in the world at this point; if there's anything she can do to improve his life, she always wants to do it.

It starts off simple. He has more grading, which isn't a surprise, and he's making up entirely new lesson plans because it's a class he's never taught before. He's working on the fall play with his best friend Miller, because he always does, so from September to Christmas, her main interactions with her roommate involve him coming home late, crawling onto the couch, and putting his head into her lap so she can pet him. Which he started doing when he was drunk and continued doing once he was sober and realized Clarke wasn't going to stop him. She's a big fan.

"You're doing fine," she tells him during tech week for the play, tangling her hand in his hair.

"I like how you're basing this on absolutely nothing," he says, eyes closed as her fingers rub his scalp. "For all you know every one of my students is crashing and burning."

"You give me a running commentary on your grading every night. So unless you're completely making shit up, I actually know more about how your students are doing than most people. And I hear all about every lesson you plan and every test you're giving, so, yeah. I feel like I'm the world's foremost authority on how you're doing."

He snorts. "Thanks."

"Seriously. I know how hard you work. And you're doing really well."

"Remember how bad the last set of essays was?"

"Uh huh. Which is why we spent an hour talking through what you were gonna do next class to make sure they would feel better with the material." She takes his glasses off for him, which is the kind of too-intimate gesture that is definitely a bad idea. Liking her roommate is fine. Good, even. Being attracted to him is unavoidable, because her roommate looks like _Bellamy_ , and she's pretty sure most people who are even tangentially interested in men recognize that he is, objectively, incredibly good-looking. 

The desire to lean down and kiss him until he feels better is dangerous, and Clarke knows better.

"You'll feel better when the play is done," she tells him.

He snorts. "Yeah, because getting closer to the AP exam is exactly what's going to help me right now."

"Okay, fine," she grants. "But you'll be a different kind of stressed. Which is cool, right? Variety is the spice of life."

That finally gets a smile out of him. "I did tell you I was going to be a mess, right? I warned you. I was very clear."

"You were. I don't mind," she adds, when he doesn't say anything. "It's kind of cool."

"Thanks, asshole."

She laughs. "Not, like--it sucks. But you're always taking care of everyone. It's kind of nice to get to take care of you for once."

"Oh," he says. "Huh. You're definitely going to regret saying that."

She lets herself brush her lips against his forehead. It's probably good that he's not like this more often; Clarke doesn't think of herself as an overly affectionate person, but seeing Bellamy genuinely distressed just makes her want to hug him, and then destroy everything that's making him upset. Which is a bad enough place to be even when what's making him upset _isn't_ "teenagers." It's not like yelling at his AP students would actually help the situation.

So instead she just says, "Bring it."

*

Octavia comes to see Bellamy for Christmas, as is tradition, and Clarke stays for as long as possible before she has to go home. She's kind of tempted to just stay, because Bellamy needs to fucking _relax_ , and he has trouble with that in the best of circumstances, let alone when he's hosting his sister and her new boyfriend for the holidays on top of already being a mess about his classes.

"I could pretend to be sick," she offers, the day before she's flying home.

His smile is wry. "You know this doesn't actually help, right? I'm so pathetic you're offering to skip out on Christmas with your family because you don't trust me alone."

"Like I won't take any excuse not to go home. You'd be doing me a favor."

"I thought stuff was going better with your mom and your stepdad," he says, actually looking a little worried. "You haven't said anything in a while. Is everything okay?"

She has to smile. "It's fine. I'd just always rather be hanging out with you." It feels like a totally normal sentiment when she's saying it, but he flushes red up his neck, and she realizes it maybe is a little weird. "Marcus is okay, but--it's still awkward. And his kid is still an asshole, and now he and his wife have a baby, so it's going to be the baby show, with a bonus side of _Oh, Clarke, you're single? Haven't you considered that marriage and children is all you should be striving for in life?_ "

"Jesus." He puts his arm around her shoulders. "I totally forgot about that. I'm sorry. I've been so fucking distracted."

"It's not a big deal. If I wanted to complain to you, I would. I'm just saying, not going wouldn't be this massive hardship or anything."

"But your texts about how much you want to strangle your stepbrother are my favorite part of Christmas. And I bet his baby is ugly. You definitely want to know exactly how ugly his baby is. And send me pictures."

"Yeah, that's true." She grins. "You know what makes pictures of ugly babies even better? Snapchat. Because you get captions and everything."

He shoves her away with a theatrical groan. "Jesus, you're not leaving soon enough. Fucking Snapchat." But his smile is warm. "Thanks for offering to stay. We'll be fine."

"Like I said, it's not you I'm worried about," she lies, and he just smiles.

Her mother picks her up from the airport, and it _is_ good to see her. And it's not like she was opposed to her mother remarrying or anything. Family holidays just don't feel the same, when the family includes Marcus and his asshole son Graham, instead of her father. 

The baby is ugly, which is some small comfort, but apparently even she and Bellamy have trouble really talking that much shit about an actual infant, so she just sticks to stories about how much she hates Graham and his wife, and Bellamy makes creative suggestions about ways she could murder them and make it look like an accident.

"How is Bellamy doing, by the way?" her mother asks, when she snickers at her phone.

"Oh, he's--pretty good. He just picked up teaching AP US History this year, that's pretty stressful. But he's too hard on himself. He's doing so much better with it than the last teacher. And the kids all love him. I know it's tough now, but--it's really great he took over."

"How do you know?" asks Graham, with a sneer in his voice. Clarke has never wanted to punch him more, which is saying something.

"I got horror stories about the last guy from Bellamy. And from some of the students of his I met. At the play and stuff. Besides, I know Bellamy. And I hear all his grumbling. He's stressed, but he's kicking ass."

Abby smiles. "That's good to hear. You should have invited him back with you."

It's not a sentiment she was expecting, and her bland smile nearly falters. But she's an expert at this by now. "Oh, he always does Christmas with his sister. It's just the two of them, so--"

"Oh, of course. Still, it would have been nice to see him."

_My mom thinks it would have been nice to see you for the holidays_ , she texts Bellamy, once she's recovered from the shock of the statement.

_Did she want to murder me and eat my organs?_

_She didn't say, but it's weird that you came up with that explanation so quickly._

_You'd be surprised how often I get that_ , he says, and when she smiles, Abby bumps her shoulder against hers.

"I mean it. I was so worried after you and Lexa broke up, I didn't think--well, I didn't want you to give up on relationships. I'm very glad you found him. He's good for you."

She blinks for a minute, and Abby squeezes her shoulder and goes to check on the baby.

_Never mind, she just thinks we're dating_ , she texts Bellamy.

There's a pause long enough she has to worry she made it weird, but all he says is, _Yeah, you'd be surprised how often I get that too._ And then, before she can formulate a response, _Merry Christmas_.

_You too._

*

The most disconcerting part of Bellamy's downward spiral is that Clarke keeps thinking, _Okay, this is it. This is Bellamy at his most stressed. We found it_ , and then he will somehow reach a level beyond that. She doesn't _mind_ , exactly, except that she actually hates seeing Bellamy feeling worse and worse, but it's kind of academically interesting, watching him find new depths of anxiety the closer they get to May. If it wasn't Bellamy, it would make a cool study, probably.

But it is Bellamy, so she mostly frets all the time too, because she doesn't know how to make him believe he's doing a good job, and that's all she really wants. The stress she can handle, the stress is fine. But it's his persistent worry that he's somehow letting these kids down, even though he's clearly the best person for the job, that makes her ache.

Even Octavia is concerned enough to bring it up, and she and Clarke barely know each other. But she still gets random texts along the lines of _is my brother eating?????_ and _does he talk about the ap exam in his sleep u can tell me if he does_ every week or so, which is alarming. Clarke can't tell if these are an indication Octavia thinks they're dating, or she just knows Bellamy well enough to realize he passes out on the couch as much as he passes out in his bed.

He doesn't talk in his sleep, but he definitely has stress dreams, and all Clarke can do is pet his hair.

Spring break is in March, and while Clarke's job does not involve built-in week-long vacations, she does have a decent amount of vacation time built up, and she's worried. Bellamy never gives homework over breaks, as a matter of principle, but he still has grading and practice tests to schedule and lessons to plan, and she's already worried he's going to end his vacation more stressed than he started it.

So she takes the Monday of his break off and tells him on Friday, "We are doing absolutely nothing this weekend."

"Longest weekend ever," he says. "Can we twiddle our thumbs or is all activity off the table? I know we won't starve to _death_ , but--"

"God, you're such a fucking dick. You need to turn your brain off."

"Easier said than done." But he looks a little interested. "Did you have a plan aside from doing nothing?"

"Come on, Bellamy. What do you take me for? I have three plans."

He laughs at that, face relaxing more than she's seen in weeks. "Of course you do. Okay, hit me. What are we doing? Also, how is planning how to relax actually relaxing for you? Please teach me your secrets."

"I'm not planning how to relax. I'm planning how to make you feel better. You know that's my favorite thing."

"Very important distinction. So, what are your detailed plans for making me feel better?"

"Okay, so, one, we stay here, get drunk, and watch Netflix all weekend. Every time you mention grading, APs, or anything about the rest of the school year, you have to take a drink, because you really need to just fucking disengage."

His smile is already stronger. "Okay. What's the second option?"

"Basically the same thing, but Wells said we could use his dad's cabin. In case you need to actually get out of town to disengage."

"Third option?"

"We go to the cabin and experience--nature or whatever. I don't know. Whatever people at cabins do. Hike. Fish. Fight bears with our bare hands."

"God, when you said you had plans I was expecting something a little more in-depth."

"I figured I'd see what you wanted to do first. I'll come up with a schedule, if you want. Every Netflix movie we have to watch. Three days' worth."

"Three?"

"I took Monday off."

"Really?" he asks. She can't quite tell if he's pleased or not, and it makes her self-conscious.

"I wanted to help."

"You help all the time." Half his mouth tugs up in a smile. "I know this is hard to believe, but I'd be even more of a wreck without you."

"That's a terrifying thought." She tries to shrug it off. "I really don't mind. I could use a break too. So, what do you want?"

"Let's just stay here. I like our couch."

"I'm serious about drinking every time you say anything about school, by the way."

"You're always serious about drinking. But it's not much of a drinking game if I'm the only one with rules."

They spend the rest of Friday night coming up with things they have to drink if they mention, and on Saturday Bellamy agrees to not change out of his pajamas. They order breakfast off GrubHub and get _Parks and Rec_ going on Netflix, stretch out on the couch under a pile of blankets because it's still too cold for March. Clarke grabs her sketchpad and gets some drawing done, while Bellamy actually plays his DS for the first time since summer vacation, she's pretty sure. Every time she sees his expression go tense, she bumps his shoulder or kicks his foot or asks what's happening in his game, and by the dinnertime she's basically curled around him, watching him play _Pokemon Conquest_ with her head on his shoulder.

Normal, platonic roommate stuff. Definitely.

She's not sure when she falls asleep, but when she wakes up, she's alone in her own bed, which she'll admit is in all ways a downgrade from being with him on the couch, even if that would fuck up both their necks.

"You're an _asshole_ ," she mutters, because even if Bellamy _is_ interested in her--and she thinks, honestly, that he might be--now really isn't the time. He's a tragic mess of stress and neuroses, and Clarke's job right now is to be supportive and helpful and make sure his life is as awesome as it can be. Her job is not to give him another thing to fret about, like her desire to drag him into her bed and never let him leave. Except to marry her, probably. If she can let go of him long enough.

Whatever. That's what she's _not_ thinking about. It's fine. She's a helpful friend.

He's cooking when she drags herself out of her room.

"I'm counting this as stress relief," he says. "I like cooking."

"Hey, as long as you're not talking about you-know-what, I won't make you drink. How are you feeling?"

He pauses. "This is a trick question, because if I tell you the truth, I have to drink." But then he smiles, and she's helpless to not smile back. "I'm good. It's actually supposed to be warm today, I was thinking we could go do nothing in the park instead of here? Not all day, just once the sun comes out."

"We have to bring a flask so you can drink if you try to talk about school," she says, and he laughs. "But yeah, sure. That sounds good."

By the end of the long weekend, Clarke is pretty sure she's done _some_ amount of good. He's still probably going to be a total fucking wreck in April, but--he's going to have the memory of lying in the grass in the park, dozing with his head in her lap while she tosses corn to the ducks to look back on. And she's pretty sure that's going to help. At least a little.

*

The first week of April is _weird_. Clarke had actual fucking _emergency procedures_ ready for this. She made a playlist of cute animal videos to show Bellamy when he needs a break. She got Octavia to tell her all his favorite desserts and Disney movies. She actually looked through their text message history to find nice things he's told her his students have said about him and assembled them into a Word document, so she can send him inspirational reminders out of nowhere. She was so prepared for a total meltdown.

And then Bellamy is--okay, _normal_ is definitely not the right word. He's not like himself at all. He's just--she's pretty sure he _thinks_ he's being normal. Which, honestly, Bellamy Blake aggressively trying to act normal while going out of his mind with stress is one of the most bizarre things she's ever seen, and she has no idea how to deal with it. She figures if this is what he needs, to feel some degree of control over his emotional state, she can pretend like he's not a barely disguised wreck. 

But then, on Friday, he asks her how work is going, and she complains about her least favorite coworker, lets him make comforting noises and give her wine, like he did before he became a non-stop anxiety machine. But he doesn't reciprocate, and that bugs her. 

That, in combination with the wine, leads to some poor decisions.

"Are you complaining to someone else?" she snaps.

"Huh?" asks Bellamy.

"You're not complaining to me. Did you find someone else? It's _April_ , Bellamy. You told me April was going to be the worst, and you're all--" She waves her hand. " _Yeah, it's fine, I've got it covered_. So--did you find someone else to vent to? Octavia? Miller? Did you get a special tumblr account for your feelings?"

He's smiling weakly. "You sound really upset about this."

" _I'm_ helping," she says. "It's my job."

"It's not your job." He runs his hand through his hair. "That's--this isn't on you, Clarke. I feel like all I've been doing for months is complaining. It's not fair."

"All I did for the first year we knew each other was complain about grad school."

"Sometimes you complained about your internship." His smile is a little weak. "You were never this bad."

"You're not bad." She's tipsy enough to wrap her arms around him without any hesitation, to let herself lean on his chest. "I want to know what's going on with you. You're not--I get why you're sick of it, but I'm not."

His arms come up around her, slow. "You're not? You're enjoying my suffering?"

"You know what you mean."

"Honestly, I really don't."

"Yeah, I mean--obviously, I wish you weren't dying of stress. But if you're going to be--and you are, don't pretend like you're not--I want you to tell me about it. I'm not sick of hearing about how you're doing. I always want to hear how you're doing."

"I'm stressed and I'm counting down the days until the exam," he says, on an exhale. "I don't even care after that. We're all gonna do projects on how great _Hamilton_ is for a month." His arms tighten around her, and he leans his cheek on her hair. It's a lot more hugging than they usually do, and Clarke tells herself he needs it too so she won't feel bad for enjoying it as much as she is. "I'm not good at this," he admits.

"You're amazing at this. You're the best teach--"

He snorts. "I meant letting people take care of me. But your kneejerk defense of my teaching skills is always nice."

"Oh. Yeah, you suck at this part." She burrows in. "If it makes you feel better, I really needed a hug too."

"Thanks. That does help." He rubs her back. "So, you want to hear how I'm gonna fuck up the entire AP exam and ruin every student's future personally?"

"I do. I have some videos of kittens we can watch while you talk."

He kisses her hair. "Of course you do."

*

It's probably fucked up that Clarke feels better when Bellamy goes back to being a total mess of a human being. But, really, she _knew_ he was a mess. There was no way he wasn't. So she's much happier knowing exactly how much of a mess he is and why than she is having him pretend everything is fine when nothing is. She gets why he does it, it's kind of how Bellamy is, but he's not allowed to do that to _her_. Not if she could help.

And she thinks she does, even if all she's actually doing most of the time is listening to him vent and reminding him of all the good feedback he's gotten as a teacher. She keeps the fridge stocked with good and booze, and she makes sure to periodically complain about her own life and tell him things that are frustrating her, so he can tell her it's going to be okay.

They cuddle even more than they used to, which is saying something, and she gives herself maybe a week after the AP exam before she accidentally blurts out that she's in love with him, but she figures it's fine, as long as she waits until the exam is over. Once he has the brain power to deal with it, she thinks it'll be fine, no matter what happens. He loves her, everything else aside. She's sure they won't fall apart if he doesn't love her like she wants.

Then, he catches two of his students cheating on a test and loses his temper.

It's not like she blames him; anyone would be pissed. He'd been giving them special help and staying after hours for them, and they're making crib sheets.

But he hates getting angry, she knows that. He had a quick temper when he was a kid, always getting into fights and using his fists before his words. He didn't do anything but yell at them, but he yelled at them more than he wanted to, more than he _meant_ to. He lost control.

"I just--fuck," he says, rubbing his face. "I thought I--"

Clarke has to smile. "You were going to say you raised them better than that."

"Shut up."

"It really does suck."

He huffs. "It's just--now I'm going to have to fail them. For the entire test. And I thought they were doing better, and it'll tank their grades, and it's just--fuck. This is the last thing I needed right now. And the worst part is I was kind of _glad_. Fuck knows I needed to yell at someone."

"I'm sorry. Do you want animal videos? Booze? Hugs? All of the above?"

"You're like one of those babysitters with a bag full of shit to keep kids entertained," he teases, but he's smiling a little now. "I don't need to be watched at all times."

"Not all of us are lucky enough to be naturally nurturing."

"You're doing fine." He shakes his head. "Honestly, I don't know what I'd be doing without you."

"Crying on your sister," she says, but it doesn't feel true. "Or Miller."

"They'd never let me get away with it for this long."

"You're not getting away with anything," she says, firm. "Your first year teaching AP sucks. It's stressful. This is an appropriate--"

It happens in an instant. He just leans in, hand sliding around the back of her neck, and presses his mouth against hers, this brief, warm contact, barely a breath, and then he says, "Can I get away with that?"

She swallows hard, can't get her throat to work for a second. She doesn't know what he's acting. "What are you getting away with?"

"I'd be a lot less stressed if I wasn't worrying I was going to kiss you every time you made a stupid joke or showed me a cute video or--shit, Clarke. I was already--this isn't _helping_ with--"

It's good enough for her; she pushes back up to capture his lips again, makes it a real kiss this time. He breathes a sigh of relief against her mouth and tangles his fingers in her hair, opening his mouth for her as she presses in close.

"You know what's really great for stress relief?" she asks, tugging his shirt off. "Orgasms. Lots of them."

He laughs, catches her hands. He's grinning, and she's pretty sure he's not actually worried when he says, "This isn't just for stress relief, right?"

"Bellamy," she says, fond, and he kisses her again, longer and deeper.

"I actually have a lot of grading tonight," he says, hesitant.

She slides out of his arms, but not, like, _far_ out of them. "I'll blow you after the first twenty," she offers, and the way his eyes widen and his jaw drops is kind of the best. Like he somehow didn't put together what orgasms meant, in this context.

"Maybe twenty-five," he says. "Just, uh--" His laugh is disbelieving and delighted. "Honestly, how am I gonna be able to grade again after that?"

She pecks him on the mouth again, quick, and then slides away. "You'll manage," she says. "I'm planning to do it a lot."

*

Bellamy gets home the day AP exams are done, picks Clarke up off the couch, carries her to his--their--room, and fucks her, which is, as far as she's concerned, the absolute best way to celebrate not only the end of AP exams, but basically everything that ever happens in their lives, good or bad. It's her absolute favorite thing.

"So, how long before you totally lose it again?" she asks, nuzzling against his chest.

"I've got lesson plans now, so give it until, like, February, probably. Unless their first-semester test scores suck and I realize I'm ruining their lives."

"That does sound like you." She trails her hand up his side. "I told you I didn't want to move out just because you were going to be stressed out. I can handle whatever happens."

"I still think that would have been the right call, but I'm not complaining." He yawns. "But you've got a while to be the needy one in this relationship. I'm good."

She pokes him. "I'm not needy, shut up."

"It's cool. I like being needed."

"Dork," she says, but he rolls back on top of her, so she lets it go.

As it turns out, it's roughly two months before he's a wreck again.

"This isn't actually about you," Clarke says, as he sets his alarm.

"They're my students. Of course it's about me. And what if the scores aren't up from last year?"

"Then your students are stupider than the students last year, because there's no way you're a worse teacher than the last guy."

He laughs. "You say, never having met him and knowing absolutely nothing about him."

"Yup. I feel good about this one." She nuzzles his neck. "Seriously, you don't have to read the AP grades literally the second they go up. They're not going anywhere. They'll still be online at a normal time."

"I told you I was gonna be a mess," he says. "You knew this coming in, and you said you'd date me anyway. I tried to warn you."

"You're totally the needy one," she says. "I'm not waking up with you at dark-thirty to see if you're the best APUSH history teacher ever."

He slides into bed with her, arms firm and warm around her. "You definitely are."

It's tempting to deny it, but just for a second. Bellamy knows her. And, honestly, she cares a lot. "I definitely am," she agrees. "So shut up and go to bed."

"Love you too," he says, and presses a kiss to her shoulder.

She closes her eyes and settles in. "Yeah, you cracked the code. That's exactly what I meant."


End file.
